The Pilgrim Congress

Want to learn something totally weird about me?  Weirder than the things you already know?  Yeah, I thought so.

You know how a common fear may be something like, the fear of public speaking, or fear of dying, or fear heights?  Well, I actually have all of those too, but none of my more conventional fears are as intense as my WORST FEAR EVER.  So, what is it?  Throwing up.  Stop laughing.  Seriously, I live in constant fear that I could, at any moment, vomit.  Given the choice between vomiting and say, losing a limb, it would be a really tough call.

So, here’s a little story about something I did a few months ago.  I woke up in the morning, and I felt a little queasy.  I quickly panicked and began chugging Pepto Bismol (which I always keep on hand in case of vomiting emergencies).  I paced around my apartment, basically having a panic attack, wondering what to do.

Now, lets pause here.  I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Bitch, relax.  Go lie down on the couch and just go to the bathroom if you have to throw up.  What’s your damage?”  To which I respond, “Dear, you can’t even begin to understand the extent of my damage.”  To me, vomiting?  It’s the first sign of the apocalypse.  Like when I get sick to my stomach, the world?  It. Is. Ending.  Back to my story.

So, yeah, panic, possible vomiting, apocalypse.  Solution?  I should drive to my doctor’s office in my pajamas and see how much I can scare the staff there.  Obviously!

And that’s exactly what I did.  I drove to my doctor’s office.  In my pajamas.  Hair, a total mess.  Crazed look in my eye.  I bust through the front doors into the waiting area and say, “Excuse me, miss?  Is it possible to see Dr. Thomas?  I don’t have an appointment, but I’m not feeling very well.”  Except it came out more like this, “BITCH, I NEED A DOCTOR!  STAT!”

Now, do I live in a fantasy world wherein my problems supersede those of the elderly patients already waiting to see the doctor?  No.  Do I live in a fantasy world were unicorns fly me to work and cupcakes tell me their innermost secrets?  Not anymore, they have medication for that.  What I’m saying is that, rationally, I knew I was being a complete and utter asshole demanding to see a doctor right that moment, but the animal part of my brain had taken over.  And the animal part of my brain is kind of an asshole apparently.

So, the alarmed receptionist calls a nurse to come out and get me.  The nurse looks incredibly concerned, and helps me to an examining room.  Finally!  Someone who understands what I’m going through here!  Then we have the following conversation:

Nurse:  How long have you been vomiting for?

Me:  I haven’t thrown up yet.

Nurse:  Oh, are you having diarrhea?

Me:  No, but I feel like I might throw up.

Nurse (now looking less sympathetic):  You *feel* like you *might* throw up?

Me: Yes.

Nurse:  Is there anything else?  Headache?  Sharp pains in your back or abdomen?

Me:  Hmmm, no.  But I definitely feel like I might throw up.

Nurse (totally unsympathetic at this point): The doctor will be in to see you shortly.

And then my doctor and I had a nice long talk about seeing my psychiatrist to adjust my meds.  The end.